tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18599270815080065942014-09-30T22:52:57.430-07:00My son becomes a mother..Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11467949689620284521noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859927081508006594.post-90280895252742088122007-11-26T03:20:00.000-08:002007-11-26T16:36:37.834-08:00Hey yo<div align="center"><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vsnjGTkBSAg/R0qyawqK_GI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3_5ewwz3pVI/s1600-h/dinner+015.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137114497777597538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_vsnjGTkBSAg/R0qyawqK_GI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3_5ewwz3pVI/s320/dinner+015.jpg" border="0" /></a> Meet 'pom pom'...I'm seriously thinking of calling her 'Flanigan' as a dedication </div><div align="center">(well it's those ears)</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">It's a lovely fresh windy evening here near Fremantle in Western Aussieland and boy.. what a day. Right now my little darlings are bathing and getting ready for bed (gosh their penile infatuation, does it ever end?) and I'm attempting to water the garden in 15 minute intervals.. (Move sprinkler, get wet in the process, wait 15 minutes - forget and then rush out to move the sprinkler, get wet.. repeat)</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">My second eldest son just referred to his brother by first name and surname, which is a trait a mother uses to let child know he's in the shit. Quite hilarious hearing "_____ _______!!!! pick up the towel in the bathroom". Now there's nothing worse than a precocious 6 - nearly - 7 yr old so I nipped that in the bud! (Mental note.. just use first names from now on).</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Somehow got volunteered today into owning a kitten. Now in all honesty, I'm really a canis familiaris kinda gal myself, as well as a fan of the class reptilia,which usually isn't a female trait so I've come to learn. I'm especially fond of turtles and lizards... anyway... acquired a kitten, a female, grey and white called "pom pom". Well she does look like one.. small, white and fluffy... but here in Australia, a "Pom" is a nickname for a person hailing from the Motherland </div><div align="center">(Eng-uh-land!!)...</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">I'll post a pic of her in a minute. Got to go and change the sprinkler........*goes off*</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Right, now I'm successfully wet again, I shall continue.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Seems Pom Pom has settled in quite well and is chucking spazzes all over the house. She's hilarious to watch... this sudden BURST of energy, breaking into a speed that the Daedalus would be envious of, only to fall flat on the couch in a comatose doze... It's all or nothing with her so I'm finding out.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Ok.. best describe how I live. Well I'm a 'single mum', please don't pigeonhole me... so many do, assuming that we neglect our kids, live off welfare and use most of it to go out and attract men, to buy cigarettes and the like. I hate stereotyping. For the record, I don't smoke, don't go out looking for men and LOVE LOVE my beautiful boys. They always have and always will, come first.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Basically I'm a single mother because my ex found a new woman on the internet and neglected to tell me he was leaving me until ...well he didn't tell me.. skip that.. he just took off ...and it took alot of suspicion on my behalf, followed by eagle eye detective work (ok I exaggerate because my ex wasn't too cerebral and sucked at the internet/covering tracks bit )... so therefore I found out pretty soon enough that he'd pissed off for a bit of arse in the U.S. Sorry..... ass. She's American.. from Noo Yawk.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">I'll probably do a few rants about him in the future because he sucks arse as a consistent father to his kids. Just recently he left for two months and left me without child support, which was half my living money.. so that was fun. Not. He's in the process now of 'paying me back'...good timing. Right near yuletide, so well... buying pressies for the kids is getting a bit hairy. </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">I wrote a Christmas poem from the Aussie perspective. Nothing's more ridiculous than handing over cards here in 100 deg F heat depicting SNOW.. and Santa... in a suit that would have him sweating buckets if he were to crash land his sleigh in the Simpson desert in the middle of the day. Why DO we exchange snowy cards, cook and partake in a turkey dinner when outside the plants are wilting in the heat and the unlucky ones are inside, jostling for position in front of a fan???</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Beats me.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">I'm 45 and for the first time EVER this Christmas, I will enjoy Christmas (we don't have to say "Holidays" because the stupid PC laws haven't demanded it - yet) in AIR CONDITIONING.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">So good I'll say it twice.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">AIR CONDITIONING!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">It's worth the 50 smackas I fork out each week paying it off. No more suffering in the heat for me!</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">So anyway, here's my poem and yes I wrote it!</div><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;"><div align="left"><br />AUSSIE CHRISTMAS</div><div align="left">Cicadas tocking in the summer's day</div><div align="left">Expecting Santa on his sleigh?</div><div align="left">No way mate! You're down under!</div><div align="left">Cast those snowy thoughts asunder!</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Santa rides with Kangas here</div><div align="left">Talk about bloody strange reindeer!</div><div align="left">Antlers strapped to their kanga heads</div><div align="left">with rope that's used for the tying threads..</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Santa's sleigh is an old crate box</div><div align="left">filled with stockings made of old work socks</div><div align="left">Sorry mate but you won't hear bells</div><div align="left">Cover yer ears as Santa yells</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">COOEEEE COBBER, IT'S AN AUSSIE CHRISTMAS!</div><div align="left">I'll need a beer after all this business!</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Get rid of all your red suit thoughts</div><div align="left">Santa here wears stubbie shorts..</div><div align="left">Red ones with a little white trim</div><div align="left">Ocker Santa, no mistakin' him..</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">A white T shirt over a nice pot gut</div><div align="left">Roof over the toolshed , with a hairy butt</div><div align="left">Those shorts need lifting Santa mate</div><div align="left">don't look like that when yer through the gate..</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">He won't wear boots , too flamin' hot!</div><div align="left">he thought he'd give those thongs a shot</div><div align="left">What's on his head, red hat's a NO..</div><div align="left">He wears an akubra round here ya know</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">That crumpled hat a Christmas bonnet</div><div align="left">with that bloody koala sittin' on it</div><div align="left">He's our dinkum santa, our yuletide mate</div><div align="left">with his kangas bouncin' out the gate...</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">COOOEEEEE COBBER , IT'S AN AUSSIE CHRISTMAS</div><div align="left">CHUCK US THAT BEER WHEN I FINISH THIS BUSINESS!</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">CHEERS!</span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11467949689620284521noreply@blogger.com0